Taking the Plunge
by Arrowfoot the Dragon
Summary: A collection of pokémon-based flash fics - short stories that are 1,000 words or less . Universe of the main series games, with premises that will go off the beaten path of the pokémon fandom, I hope. Will update sporadically, whenever a good idea comes.
1. The Unloved

**The Unloved**

"_That's_ the pokémon that your dad got you?"

"What a joke!"

"Figures that fatty would get something like that."

"Should I get you some chocolate syrup to go with that?" Neil, the leader of the group of bullies, finally added.

Tom felt the color rising to his cheeks, and he imagined that the snow falling gently from the sky must be melting as it reached the air around him. "Most of you don't even _have _a pokémon of your own, so back off already!" he shouted.

Neil suddenly grabbed a hold of the front of Tom's heavy jacket and slammed him against the brick wall of their high school. "They don't have any stupid delusions about being mediocre trainers. That's the difference," he said, his whispered words condensing in the air and hitting Tom's face with a seemingly physical force. "_I_, on the other hand, actually went to the trouble of applying for an official starter, and I've been training ever since my tenth birthday. But what about you? You're gonna work in Cold Storage, just like your good-for-nothing father. Why else do you think that he'd get you a vanillite?"

The pokémon in question trembled as it hovered in the air, confused and worried but not sure what to do about its new master being attacked.

"Shut up!" Tom shouted, pushing Neil backwards. "Screw your studies, and screw your 'official' starter. You're just a bully, and that's all you'll ever be."

Tom saw one of the others coming in with a punch, but he didn't try to avoid it; he fell with the punch, lessening the impact as best he could.

At least the snow on the ground gave him a soft landing.

"Ha! He's so fat that he probably didn't even feel that! Just like a snorlax!" one of the boys said.

"Then let's give him something he _can_ feel!"

The boys started kicking out with their booted feet, half covering the prone figure with snow in the process. His heavy coat, made for these snowy Driftveil days, absorbed some of the force. But it could only do so much.

A sudden freezing gust of wind blew above Tom's body, and he looked up to see his persecutors covered in frost and his own vanillite hovering hesitantly in the air, unsure of whether she had done the right thing.

"You wanna battle, punk?" Neil said as he wiped the thing layer of ice from his face and glared at the vanillite. He grabbed a pokéball from his jacket and hit the button, expanding it. "Fine, then. I'll show you what a_ real_ pokémon can do to a stupid ice cream cone."

"Are you stupid, Neil?" Tom said as he pushed himself up from the ground and stood between vanillite and the trainer. Tom suddenly felt protective of her. She had just tried to help him; the least he could do was return the favor. "We can't battle here! You know battles are against the law within city limits."

With a grin, Neil returned the pokéball to its original size and put it back in his pocket. "Fine. Then you're coming with us."

Tom suddenly found himself being pushed and pulled along, not enough that it wouldn't look like anything more than roughhousing to anyone else on the street, but plenty enough that Tom didn't dare try to break away.

"Mind telling me where the heck we're going?" he asked.

The group laughed but did not respond as they shuffled through the snow, moving slowly towards the east edge of town; Vanillite followed after them, floating along as nervously as ever. The snowfall started to increase in volume, but no one really minded. Tom in particular barely felt the cold; as if his layers and fat didn't already aid him enough, he'd been knocked out and abandoned in snow drifts often enough to be practically immune to the freezing temperatures.

The bullies only let go when they had reached the shore of the great river that cut off Driftveil from Nacrene City to the east.

"And now we battle," Neil said with a smile, finally releasing his tepig from his pokéball. "Loser takes a dip in the river."

"That's insane!" Tom said as he moved closer to his vanillite. "No way I'm agreeing to that! Come on, Vanillite, we're leaving."

He turned to go, only to cry out as a barrage of embers pummeled his back, catching the warm ducklett down lining on fire. He jumped to the side and stripped his jacket off before the flames could do much damage.

"You don't have a choice," Neil said with a grin.

Tom glared and then, wanting the benefit of surprise, immediately began the battle. "Icy wind!"

Like before, the vanillite let out a cold blast of air from her mouth; though it easily hit the surprised tepig, the fire-type simply shook off what little frost there was. In another moment, Neil ordered an ember attack. Vanillite managed to avoid most of it, but was still heavily damaged from the few embers that landed.

"Icicle spear!"

The attack missed tepig and hurtled through the air towards Neil. Neil sidestepped desperately, only to find himself tumbling into the freezing waters of the broad, deep river.

Tepig and the rest of the gang panicked as their leader immediately disappeared under the surface, dragged down by his winter coat.

Tom looked over to Vanillite and suddenly got the idea that this shy, scared little pokémon had not missed that last attack. Not really. And in that moment, Tom realized that if he was going to be the trainer he'd always dreamt of being, it wasn't just his pokémon who needed to grow. He got the feeling that Vanillite knew this already, and this was merely a test. Or maybe that's just how Tom needed to rationalize what he was about to do.

He took a deep breath.

He strode up to the edge of the river.

And he took the plunge.

* * *

><p>*Chapter word count: 1000 words<p>

Hi there! So, my writing club at college came up with this thing called Flash Fiction February, which I have decided to take part in. Though for me, it will be Fan Flash Fiction February (FFFF for short). In addition to just being something that sounded like fun, I think it'll really help me make my writing more concise and to the point which, if you've read ANY of my other work, you know I need to work on. If you are currently watching me and are not interested in getting spammed with (roughly) a chapter a day, then I suggest you un-watch me for the month. Though I'd prefer you don't, since having a lot of watchers indulges my vanity. ^_^

Anyway, my rules/guidelines for the challenge:

1. No matter what, I'm not letting this interfere with my ongoing actual pokémon fanfic, "PMD: Defenders of Warmth."

2. 1000 words are the maximum (not counting these author's note things at the end of the chapter).

3. Try to get out one a day, though I'll break from this rule if need dictates.

4. If you have a specific pokémon or general premise you'd like to see in a chapter, review or message me to let me know! There's no guarantee I'll do it, but I might. Just make sure that it is a _very_ general idea, since it'd be difficult to really make the thousand words my own if the entire plot is planned out.

...And that's pretty much it. Seeing as I usually write novel-length stories (with super long chapters) and only occasionally even write regular short stories, I'd certainly appreciate any critiques from people familiar with flash fiction! And, as always, I appreciate critiques in general, whether you're familiar with flash fiction or not.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Understand

**Understand**

I bit back a cry as razor sharp leaves cut through my skin.

"Please, just listen to me!" I shouted desperately to the three pokémon that surrounded me, a range of conflicting emotions dancing in their eyes. My own eyes – hidden though they were beneath my waves of brown, disheveled tresses – reflected the three pokémon's fear, hope, anger, and pity. We were the same, but different; all hurt, and yet all strong beyond imagining.

The bayleef soon cut off her razorleaf attack and let croconaw come forward. In another moment, I was knocked to the ground and soaked from a water gun attack.

They'll never listen to me. I should've listened to Paul and Sean. They tried to stop me from coming. These pokémon were a lost cause, they had said. They had gone wild and violent. They didn't deserve to be reasoned with.

But Paul and Sean were wrong. They deserved this much.

"You're in danger!" I said as I squinted into the darkness of the park. "You'll be killed if you don't leave as soon as possible!"

Light blazed within the darkness as Quilava rolled quickly forward, her body cloaked in flame. The force of the blow knocked me back to the ground, and my eyes watered as fire burned my skin.

I took a shuddering breath and slowly pushed myself to my knees, tears of pain and sorrow filling my eyes. I didn't try to wipe them away. They were tears that these pokémon needed to see. They needed to know that I wasn't like Paul and Sean.

"Please… Just hear me out," I said, my voice trembling.

I turned my head to my left so that I was looking towards where Bayleef had to be. "I'm sorry for how Sean is, and how he couldn't see how much he was hurting you. He hurt me, too – you remember that, don't you?"

I heard something whistle through the air, and in another moment I felt a vine slap against my face, its momentum slicing the skin wide open.

I stayed silent as I took the blow; I had dealt with worse at Sean's hands. I continued, "He pushed us into doing what we didn't want to do. He abused us. He said it was to make us stronger, but we both know that wasn't the case. Neither of us deserved it. And once you evolved, you realized that you didn't have to take his abuse any longer."

I paused for a moment, but Bayleef – wherever he was – didn't attack.

More hopefully, I continued, "Run from here. You've been through enough; you don't deserve to die for it. Or, if you'd like, I have your old pokéball with me. We can start again, and you can have a chance at having the sort of trainer you-"

I stopped speaking as I heard something rushing towards me out of the darkness. In another moment, Croconaw's jaw was clamped down on my shoulder, his sharp teeth digging in through clothing, skin, and muscle.

I didn't resist. Instead, with my teeth gritted in pain, I reached over with my free arm and fingered the mystic water pendant that hung from Croconaw's neck. "I see you still wear that. Paul… He cared about you. But he saw you as a pet. He wouldn't let you reach your full potential. He-"

I took a sharp intake of breath as Croconaw bit down harder. I heard and felt my shoulder bone start to fracture.

_I am stronger than this. I have to be._

"You can run away, too. Or you can join me. I'll do my best to help you be everything that you dream of. I'll help you to evolve once again, just as Paul managed to help you do the first time."

I moved my free hand away from him and took an old, battered pokéball from my pocket.

"So, Croconaw? Will you?"

Croconaw neither resisted nor let go of my shoulder as I raised my hand and touched the pokéball to his nose. In the flash of light as he disappeared into his pokeball, I could see that the fight had not gone out of his eyes. But hope was there was well.

Perhaps that was the best I could do.

I put that ball away and took out Bayleef's. "Bayleef? What will you do?"

I tried to hold it out in front of me as a peace offering, but my wounded shoulder trembled so much that I dropped it.

Before I could pick it up again, Bayleef emerged from the shadows around me and, eyes filled with tears of a bittersweet happiness, she touched a vine to the capture mechanism.

That left only Quilava.

"Quilava, are you still there?"

In answer, a blast of flame came from the darkness directly ahead of me. This time, I couldn't help but scream as it hit me.

I gasped for breath, unsure if I'd survive this last talk.

But I had to try.

"Quilava… You're the only one I never understood. Why? Why did you hate me so much after evolving? Why did you run away from me?"

Two fires flared up ahead of me. One was that of my quilava, and it was matched by a quilava that stood right next to her. And beside them, there was a young cyndaquil that bore such an uncanny resemblance to my first starter that I had no doubt who the mother was.

My quilava gently nudged the young one forward, but the cyndaquil needed little urging. He eagerly ran forward and jumped into my injured arms.

I looked down at him and then looked up at Quilava, tears of happiness in my eyes. The pair of quilava gave me one final, contented nod before quenching their fires and disappearing into the darkness.

"You just wanted to live your own life," I said, my voice a relieved whisper. "Just like how I couldn't live my own life with Sean around…"

"…Now I understand."

* * *

><p>Word Count: 999<p>

Already fell off of my planned schedule... Figures. Had to finish this week's Defenders of Warmth chapter on time, though. Anyway, I might get out another of these tonight, or I might spout a few out tomorrow. We'll see.

I had this idea in my head for a week or so now, but I decided to make Quilava the narrator's pokémon as per one of quilzel's requests. ^_^

Hope you liked it! I was super happy with the amount of character backstory I managed to fit into 999 words. :D


	3. Changing Colors

**Changing Colors**

Just like his kecleon, Mr. Henry Augustus Trust changed his color to match the situation.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't his kecleon; and strictly speaking, he didn't actually change his color. That would be silly. But Mr. Trust switched personas just as easily as Kecleon turned invisible. If anyone had ever seen the human and pokémon together, it perhaps would have been impossible to say which was the best at changing color.

If a family walked down the street, Mr. Trust would straighten up to look as respectable as possible, and sometimes the father or mother would be happy to spare a few cents.

If a police officer came by, he shrank into the shadows, becoming nearly as invisible as Kecleon itself. He was doing nothing wrong, of course. Or at least, he didn't think so. But he always thought it was better to be safe than sorry.

If gangs and thugs came down the street, he played along with their games. Sometimes, they'd rough him up. Sometimes, they'd take pity and give him a puff of something strong, just to see what the crazy hobo on Altaria Boulevard would do when he got high. He knew they were looking for a show, and so when that happened, he switched colors yet again. He became an entertainer, doing whatever obscene things came to his mind, glad to make his persecutors laugh so that he might survive another night.

He changed his color time and time again, in order to survive. He was the homeless man you asked for directions when you were obviously lost; he was a performer; he was a dumpster-diver; he was the hobo muttering to himself in the downtown library. He was a nice guy and a cruel man, a bastion of virtue and the lowest of the low, he was both greatly philosophical and utterly materialistic.

And he was a trainer, though only in the most technical sense of the term.

He changed his color to that of a trainer upon first noticing that zig-zag stripe scrounging in the same dumpster as he. How wonderful to turn invisible like that, he had thought at the time. To put on not just a different persona, but _no_ persona. To turn into the nothing that society saw him as.

He trained the kecleon, literally. He trained it to go invisible at his command. He trained it to stay away from children who due to their height more easily saw the stripe, and he trained it to wander among the moving forest of people's legs and feet, where it'd be less noticeable.

Lastly, he taught it to steal. With a flick of its dexterous, invisible tongue, it could easily snare wallets and cash without being seen. So long as he quickly dashed down the alleyway and brought the gathered leather to Mr. Trust's hiding place, no one could ever suspect a thing.

And in order to draw in people and draw their attention away from their wallets, Mr. Trust changed his color yet again. He became a singer, just like he had been back when he'd owned his own house. Back when he'd had a family that didn't look down on him. Back when he'd known not only how to survive, but also how to live.

He sang old folk songs; he sang popular music. He gave beautiful renditions of opera pieces that he remembered from his years on the stage. He changed his color to what it had once been, to that of a man who had lived for the stage, and for song.

But that was no longer his true color.

One day, Mr. Trust was caught in the act of surviving. Or, rather, his kecleon friend was caught. Suspicion immediately fell to the man with the beautiful voice, whom all of Mossdeep had heard sing at least once. Kecleon had been stealing the wallets of people listening to _his _songs, after all, and kecleon did not learn to steal wallets on their own.

The kecleon's eyes were frightened as the police officer held it by its tail. The officer was hoping to provoke a reaction from Mr. Trust through the use of this rough treatment; after all, no trainer would be able to stand his pokémon being treated in such a way.

The kecleon ceased its struggling as soon as it saw Mr. Trust, the only human who had fed it and had been kind to it in his miserable time living in this city. The kecleon clearly thought that its trainer would save him from the officer.

Mr. Henry Augustus Trust had once been a man of great character. His soul had once been white as snow as he focused only on his love for his family and his singing, which in itself was an expression of that purity.

Now, though, Mr. Trust simply smiled and changed his color once again, this time to a dirty, depthless black.

"I'm sorry, Officer, but I've never seen that pokémon in my life."

"Are you sure?"

Mr. Trust tipped his hat up, wholly ignoring the hopeful gaze of the kecleon. Holding out his arms in an open gesture, he said, "Am I the sort of person who would lie to you? I am but a mere street performer trying to make his way in the world."

But he was no longer a singer, or an entertainer, or a husband. He was no longer anything. What definition he might have had had been lost long ago, dropped somewhere along the streets of life.

Thus did the officer haul the squirming kecleon away. Yet the person he left behind was no longer Mr. Henry Augustus Trust. Nor was the person he left behind any longer even a person. The creature that the officer left behind was another kecleon, one who had so lost himself that now, not even a stripe of color remained to distinguish the visible truth from the invisible lies.

* * *

><p>Word Count: 993<p>

Story structure based somewhat heavily on the short story "The Things They Carried," by Tim O'Brien. Really good, powerful short story about the Vietnam War. I highly suggest it to anyone who is interested in the art of the short story, especially as it pertains to story structure.

Also, you're more than welcome to interpret the last paragraph literally if you so choose. Flash fiction tends to have weird, twist-endings, so thinking of Mr. Trust _actually_ turning into an invisible kecleon rather than just metaphorically doing so would actually kinda work.

Anyway, I'm still open to story suggestions! And to those of you who have already sent some in, I'm working and planning them to see how to work them in creatively. If you have any more suggestions, by the way, feel free to keep 'em coming. ^_^

Thanks for reading!


	4. Research

**Research**

"Erm… Sorry to be rude, but I don't think I quite caught your name."

Professor Martin looked at the bubbly young woman in front of him with a smile, though inward he was skeptical of her. Students didn't normally come seeking him out. He had never been known as the most amiable of professors at Johto University, after all.

"Oh, terribly sorry, Professor!" the girl said as she closed the door behind her and then sat down in a chair. "Meghan Elizabeth Williams. I'm a freshman here. Nice to meet you!"

The professor continued his strained smile and wondered if he'd have a few more grey hairs on his head by the time this conversation was over. "A pleasure. Can I help you somehow?"

The girl shook her head vigorously, causing her short, pink-streaked blond hair to flare out with a life of its own. "No, not at all. I was actually hoping to help you! But first, would you tell me more about your research on the origins of the speciation of pokémon?"

Professor Martin brightened immediately and relaxed a bit in his chair. If there was one thing that could make him sociable, it was talking about his research. "It warms my heart to see young ones like you interested in it," he said. "Right now, I'm looking into the idea of pokémon evolution. Not evolution like you know it, of course, but evolution of entire species over time. It's strange to think about, I know, especially considering that we think of evolution as something that happens in a few seconds to a single individual, rather than over thousands of years to generations of pokémon."

"I'll admit that it's a bit strange. I don't quite understand," Meghan said, her blue eyes curious as she tilted her head slightly.

"Well, think of it this way. It doesn't make much sense for hundreds of pokémon species to have popped out of nowhere, does it? And if they did pop out of nowhere, how do you explain pokémon like shellos, who are essentially genetically identical and yet can vary so much in appearance?" The professor grinned knowingly. "The best explanation is that there was once a universal species of pokémon and that changed over time into many species more equipped for their respective environments, just like how modern pokémon grow stronger to meet challenges."

"But how does that explain the fact that, though there are fossil records of extinct pokémon, there are no such fossil records linking species together?" Meghan asked. "At best, you might argue that the discovery of archen proves that there was a focal point from which all bird pokémon progressed… But there's not much evidence to back that up."

The professor blinked. For a rather obscure and frowned upon field of study, this girl certainly knew a lot. "True, the evidence isn't marvelous. But isn't the existence of many pokémon species strange otherwise? For example, the genes that allow for a move – let's say toxic, one of the most universally learnable moves – are the same across all species, regardless of type, size, or shape. Unless you hold with the Arceus theory of creationism, the only logical way to explain it is if a single original species capable of _all_ those moves slowly changed over time, switching off certain genes in order to further specialize in certain areas of expertise."

"Arceus? Like I'd believe that ridiculous story!" Meghan said with a laugh. "He's really quite a failure at creating life. Just look at how Giratina turned out! Universes and worlds are Arceus's specialty."

Professor Martin reexamined the girl for a moment, and in that moment thought he saw something else there. The eyes were bigger, the body much smaller, the color…

No. He was imagining things. Meghan – crazy though she now sounded – was there, as much the college freshman as she had been walking in.

"Then if you don't stand with my theories or the Arceus beliefs, where do you stand, Miss Williams?"

"Well, you haven't mentioned the Mew theory yet," she said.

"That's even less creditable than my own research," Professor Martin said in a rare moment of complete honesty. "There is no evidence that such a pokémon even existed, nonetheless begat hundreds of races by itself. If anythi-"

"Herself."

"What?" Professor Martin said as he thought he saw something pink flit in his vision. It was probably just her hair, he reasoned.

She simply smiled at him in response.

Annoyed, he continued, "If anything, 'mew' was the original species of pokémon from which all others branched. More than likely, ditto are its most direct descendants."

"So terribly closed-minded… That's a shame," Meghan said. "Want to hear my theory?"

With a frown, Professor Martin nodded.

"The old myths were right. Mew gave birth to all other pokémon, shutting off certain genes herself in order to make them individuals. There's no other way to explain the lack of evidence of anything else, is there?"

"There is no way I'd believe such a childish tale," Professor Martin said, though there was some knowing glimmer in Meghan's blue eyes that made him almost hesitate. "I want proof."

Meghan grinned and stood up. "You need proof for that, but none for your own theories? Humans never cease to amaze me."

"Excuse me?" Professor Martin said as he stood as well. He suddenly became sure that he was not quite looking at Meghan, but at something else entirely. He just couldn't quite see what it was.

Suddenly, the illusion fell away, and Meghan Elizabeth Williams was no longer there. In her place floated a tiny, almost glameow-like pink pokémon with bright, curious blue eyes.

_Open your mind to the possibilities once in a while, Professor Martin. You might just learn something new. _

And then she disappeared.

The professor stood stock still for several minutes before he sat back down, a smile plastered on his face.

"Learn something new…" he muttered to himself. "You know what? That might just be fun."

* * *

><p>Word Count: 999<p>

Didn't turn out like I was hoping, but oh well. I ended up focusing more on the theories than I would have liked. Darn my love of world-building!

Anyway, mainly just wanted to do a bit of a funner, more light-hearted flash fiction, since the ones up until now (and probably many of the ones to come) will tend to rely more on dark themes. Don't blame me; blame the genre. If you've ever had to live through (or, in my case, enjoy) a short story unit in any high school or college course, you already know that the genre doesn't lend itself well to happy-go-lucky sorts of stuff. And if you've ever chosen to live through one of my own stories, you probably know that I'm not exactly known for my happy thematic elements.

Anyway, hope you're liking these so far!


	5. Aura

**Aura**

Robert trained with his riolu every spare moment of every single day, in hopes that physical pain might obliterate the spiritual ache.

It never worked.

_Why?_

He threw a punch at his riolu, which was rather difficult due to the pokémon's small size. Riolu blocked with the hard steel guard on the back of his forepaw, and Robert felt his knuckles split. He saw the crimson liquid dripping from his knuckles, and he reveled in the sensation of feeling his life drip out of him ever so slowly.

_Why do you do this?_

He always heard this voice in his head, ever since John had died. He knew he was probably being ridiculous with all this training. He knew that the voice was just his mind's crazy way of emphasizing that. Other people moved on when their best friend died. But Robert… He couldn't. He hadn't smiled for a year. Not really. He hadn't slept well. He'd broken several bones in his battles with Riolu, but he never stopped fighting.

_Fighting? Fighting what?_

It was always the same place – the clearing in the forest where he and John had used to play as kids. It only amplified the pain, but whenever he tried to battle elsewhere, he couldn't. He stayed in once place, just as he had ever since John's death.

_Are you fighting the past?_

Riolu jumped up, ramming his head into Robert's stomach. The air wooshed out of Robert's lungs and, for a few moments, he laid on the ground to recover his breath.

_Who does this help?_

Robert got back up again and went in for a kick. Riolu dodged and attacked Robert's other leg, throwing off his balance and once again sending him to the ground. He would be bruised in the morning, that was certain. But then again, he was bruised every morning.

_Why does riolu put up with this fighting? Why did he seek you out?_

Robert got back up and this time approached more slowly, planning his attack rather than charging headlong. Riolu, too, held back, waiting to see what his trainer would do.

_How did he find you at that tree, with a hangman's noose in hand?_

Riolu came at Robert first, aiming for his knees with his paws.

_Did he know the noose would break?_

Robert jumped aside at the last moment and turned around quickly for a kick.

_Why has he stayed with you ever since?_

He turned too quickly and tripped on some knotted old grass. The momentum carried his feet forward and his body backward, and he had no good way to catch himself. He felt his head crack against something hard, and his vision was suddenly flooded with darkness and light.

He sees an orange color among the light, and once again he hears the voice in his head.

_Move on._

His head hurts. He tries to get up, but he's lost in the swirl of dark and light.

_You must move on._

In the vortex, he sees his riolu next to the orange light. They seem to be talking. Robert calls out to them, but no noise emerges from his throat.

Still, they apparently hear him and turn to him. The riolu is smiling happily. And the orange being condenses into the one person Robert never thought he'd see again.

The blur – John – opens his mouth and speaks.

_Believe in riolu, like he believes in you. Do that, and move on._

The vision disappeared. Robert's head pounded as he got up and looked around. He saw Riolu standing next to him, a paw extended as if to help Robert up despite the huge difference in size.

Robert didn't smile. But he took the riolu's paw, got up, and left the battlegrounds he had occupied constantly for nearly a year.

He leaves behind the sorrow and moves on.

* * *

><p>Word Count: 642<p>

A suggestion by one of my wonderful reviewers, rioluaura. He wanted a riolu transformation fic. Sadly, I could not oblige, since a transformation fic just didn't quite fit in with my intended aim for this series of flash fics. Still, hope you liked it, rioluaura! (Though if you didn't, don't hesitate to say so.)

Shortest story yet, but I didn't want to dwell too long on stuff in this one. It seemed to lend itself better to brevity.


	6. Super Battle Sunday

**Super Battle Sunday**

"Woah, no way!"

"That calls for a red flag ! Definitely an indirect attempt at hitting the trainer!"

"Come ON, Ref, get it together! Make the call!"

The group's urgings, however desperate, did nothing to persuade the judge on the television screen.

The only girl in the room suddenly spoke up. "Which person did you say is the wigglytuff's trainer?"

"Dear Arceus, Walter! Educate your girlfriend!"

"Calm down, calm down," Walter said. Then, to Emily, said, "It's Azrael's. He's the challenger. The one with the garchomp is Cynthia."

"Well, I knew that much," Emily pouted, not enjoying being made fun of by everyone else.

"Woah, woah, woah! Look at that!"

Everyone sat on the edge of their seats as the wigglytuff took in a deep breath and exhaled a massive blizzard, hitting the garchomp and damaging it badly.

A chorus of mixed groans and cheers went through the room.

"Come on! I'm betting on Cynthia! Garchomp can't lose already!"

"That's right, Wigglytuff! Show that overgrown dragon who's boss!"

"Are we still _only_ in the third battle?" Emily complained.

"You don't have to be here if you don't wanna be," one of the other guys pointed out.

"We don't want you here if you're just going to complain."

She pouted again and suddenly stood up. "Fine. I'll leave."

As she headed for the door, Walter stood up as well and followed her.

"Aw, come on, Walter! Don't let her ruin your day!"

"Chicks will be chicks, after all," another guy said.

"Yeah, don't be ridiculous!"

Walter rolled his eyes. "I still think it's still silly that we're watching it on TV when we're right next to the stadium... It'd probably be more exciting to just stand outside the stadium and listen to the roar of the crowds. Anyway, I want to get my car out of here before everyone leaves the stadium after the battle's over." Walter shut the door behind him so as to stop any more complaints.

Another of the guys rolled his eyes. "Figures. He's always like this."

"Bros before hoes, guys. Remember that."

"For sure."

"Hey hey, look at that! Garchomp still beat wigglytuff even after that blizzard!"

"Knew garchomp would pull through! It always does!"

"Who's up next?"

There was a flash of light on the television, and a beartic appeared.

"Ooh, Azrael's getting serious now."

"You mean he wasn't serious before?"

"Nah, man. I know all the stats on this guy. His wigglytuff rarely knocks out anything. His beartic, on the other hand…"

"Rapes the shit out of everything, doesn't it?"

"Got that right."

"Cynthia's getting serious, too!"

"Did she really just order Draco Meteor?"

"She never does that unless she's desperate!"

"Just goes to show how good of a matchup this is!"

They all watched the television expectantly, waiting for the fire and brimstone to fall from the sky.

They didn't have to wait long. The meteors rained down precisely on the house they were in, incinerating them all instantly. And one stray meteor hit the car that Walter and Emily were driving away in, causing them to swerve off the road and fall in a river or something. And the car exploded, for good measure.

"Whoops," Cynthia said for millions of viewers to hear as she realized her garchomp's mistake.

_The End_

* * *

><p>Word Count: 648<p>

For those of you who do _not_ live in the U.S. and therefore are not dragged into the nation's biggest day of time wasting, money spending, gluttony and stupidity, then let me tell you that this is a very direct parody of the Super Bowl, which took place yesterday.

Yes, I watched. But only in the very indirect way of, "I played KH: BBS whenever the game was on and looked up whenever the commercials started." But I regret that now, 'cuz now I have homework and I didn't get much writing done this weekend, AND the commercials weren't all that great this year. So I decided to screw with the whole event. I wasn't originally planning on writing a crack fic _quite_ yet, but the opportunity was too good and it was something short so I could get some of Defenders of Warmth written today.


	7. Running

**Running**

She hated the fact that it was sunny. No sun deserved to shine on this day. No blade of grass deserved to glisten in the light as it waved back and forth, teased by a gentle wind. No pidgey deserved to fly the skies without a care in the world.

And no one deserved to be here but her.

She'd gone through everything with Sandra. She'd hatched the sandshrew's egg herself, and she'd trained her until she evolved into a sandslash. They'd taken on the gym challenge together; they'd made new friends together; they'd laughed together and they'd cried together. And none of the people around Eliza right now had any reason to share in that. They were her friends, her family, and those who had supported her as she rose through the ranks, eventually gaining the six badges that she now possessed. But they had no right to be at this funeral. It had always been just her and Sandra and the rest of the team. That's how it had always been. Always. Always.

Eliza remained stony until Sandra was buried. She spoke to none, for the only one who deserved her words right now was six feet below the surface of the uncaring earth. It was by no means the deepest the sandslash had delved underground, and yet that little six-foot distance between trainer and pokémon was now unsurpassable by either.

It was only when all her human acquaintances had left that she let the tears fall. She screamed at the perfect day, but not really; she wanted to, but didn't. She wanted to bury herself, so that she could lie alongside her first pokémon forever.

"We didn't even get our eighth badge!" she finally did say, though it was in a trembling whisper rather than a shout. "You promised… We promised! We were going to go all the way, and yet…"

Eliza wept bitterly, both for Sandra and for herself. Where was she to go now? She couldn't possibly battle. Not ever again. Not after it had been made so blatantly clear how dangerous it could be.

And if it could happen again…

Well, she wouldn't let it. She would not live with that guilt, or the sorrow. Once was enough. Once was more than enough. Once was more than she could possibly take. Were it to happen again, she would be lost.

She took the pokéballs from her belt. Now there were only four of her original five. Still standing amidst the gravestones carved with roaring dragons and sad-eyed togetic and blissfully sleeping swablu, Eliza released them from their pokéballs.

Luxray. Rhyhorn. Azumarill. Fearow.

Their eyes were sad, too. They knew what had happened. Of course they did. She had left them in their pokéballs during the funeral, due to cemetery rules. But they'd been the first she'd told, when the battle went wrong. They'd waited with her when Sandy was in critical condition; she'd been with them when the news came.

She wasn't supposed to have them out in the cemetery. By the cemetery's rules, only dead pokémon could be here. But screw the rules. Screw battling. Screw the entire world. She was done with it all.

"You all are free to go," she said, snapping their pokéballs in half one by one over a nearby gravestone, accidently breaking off the head of a happy totodile statue in the process. "I won't be responsible for you all anymore. I don't deserve that kind of honor. I don't want to get you all killed."

Luxray looked at her in confusion, and Fearow and Azumarill had similar reactions.

Rhyhorn, however, seemed not to react. Or not in the way that either Eliza or the others expected. Instead, he walked forward and, before Eliza could react, tossed his head into her and slammed her to the ground.

She winced and tried to push herself up, but in another moment, rhyhorn had nudged his head under her and she found herself thrown up onto Luxray's back.

Whether because Rhyhorn had said something or because Luxray had gotten the idea by himself, Luxray immediately took off. It was all Eliza could do to hold on and haul herself up into a regular riding position.

As she gained her seating and looked over, she saw Azumarill riding on Rhyhorn's forhead and Fearow flying just above her.

"What are you guys doing?" she shouted, confused and sad and ready for this nonsense to end. "Let me go! Just leave me alone already! I can't! I just ca-"

A jolt of electricity suddenly went through her. Dazed, she now only managed to hold on, on the very edge of falling into unconsciousness.

She managed to rouse herself again only when Luxray stopped. They'd been running for a long time, she knew that; she just didn't know where. It was only when Eliza opened her eyes that she found herself in the place where she had first discovered Sandra's egg, when once she'd been lost in the woods near her home.

She got down and looked at each of her pokémon.

"No," she said. She wasn't sure quite what they were trying to tell her, but she knew her answer. "I'm done. Never again. You all deserve to live your lives, without me risking them to my own ends."

The pokémon looked at one another. Then they looked at their trainer.

Then Rhyhorn flung her down, and the run began again.

But whether they ran towards a new day or away from the terrors of the night was something that was yet to be seen.

* * *

><p>Word Count: 932<p>

Actually had this done yesterday, but forgot to put it up. ^_^ Anyway, hope you liked it!


	8. Roller Coaster

**Roller Coaster**

"Well, this is a pickle, isn't it?"

The director of the amusement park gazed at the roller coaster, which currently was stuck upside-down at the top of its highest loop.

Mark – the teen who had been in charge of the ride when the catastrophe had first occurred – asked, "Is there anything we can do?"

"Hmm…" the director thought intently, more pensive than panicked. Some distance behind him, spectators gathered, waiting to see what would happen to the twenty-four unfortunate people at the top of the ride.

Suddenly, one of the people in the crowd shouted out, "Someone up there's releasing a pokémon!"

Mark and the director glanced upward and watched as the pokémon that had been let out – a bird of some kind, apparently – flapped down, revealing itself to be a chatot.

"When are we getting down?" the chatot said, mimicking the intonation (if not the exact sound) of its trainer's voice.

"We've called the fire department," the director said. "They'll be here soon."

The chatot flew back up to the captive passengers and relayed its message; then it flew back down again.

"A girl up here is starting to pass out. Is there-" This was apparently all that the chatot could remember, for it cut off mid-sentence and hovered there, waiting for its next line.

The director frowned. "Kick your feet. Get blood flowing."

The chatot flew back up, and this time, stayed there for a while. As they watched, the director and the teen could just barely make out the outline of the young girl as she started to squirm, presumably from the kicking.

"Where are the firemen?" Mark asked, his nervousness rising. "They should've been here by now."

The chatot suddenly flew down again. "She's having trouble breathing. Asthma!"

The director's eyes widened as the seriousness of the situation seemed to hit him.

He turned to the crowd. "An inhaler! Anyone, we need an inhaler!"

"I've got one!" someone towards the front said, pushing forward and handing it off to Mark, who had run down to get it. And Mark in turn passed it off to the chatot, who took it and flew back up.

It stayed up there for a minute, then once again descended.

"It's not working!" the chatot mimicked in a panicked voice.

The director turned to look to the entrance of the park. "Where are those firefighters? They should have the pokémon capabilities to take care of this!"

"Is that all you can do, sir! Wait around for them?" Mark asked angrily.

"What do you expect me to do?"

Mark couldn't take the tension any longer; though this was by no means his fault, he somehow felt responsible. He turned to the crowd and shouted, "Does anyone have a flying pokémon large enough to carry a person? Or anything else that would be able to get me up there?"

The crowd shifted uncomfortably and didn't respond.

"Well, shit!" Mark cursed, suddenly pulling a pokéball of his own from his pocket. "Guess this'll just have to do!"

There was a flash of light, and a noctowl suddenly appeared. It looked old and weary, and by no means was it big enough for Mark to ride.

But maybe with the chatot's help…

Before the director could stop him and ask him what he was about to do, Mark grabbed a screwdriver from his ride attendant's toolbox, and then grabbed onto the feet of chatot in one hand and the feet of his noctowl in the other.

_Just like when I was a kid, and small enough for Noctowl to carry me by myself… This is no different… No different…_

"Go!"

The two birds took off, the urgency in his voice lending power to their wings.

They climbed higher and higher, and Mark heard their wing beats become rapidly more labored as they tired rapidly.

"Just a little more!"

The two birds made it, dropping Mark onto the top side of the track.

"She's not breathing!" someone in the cart below him said, with the exact same intonation as the chatot's mimicked phrases.

Mark had only one choice. He had one other pokémon, and he thought he knew a way to make this work. But if he didn't go about this the right way, then both he and the girl could die.

He let out another pokémon, this one young, rather puny-looking spinarak.

"Where's the girl?" Mark said, looking over the edge of the track as much as he dared.

"Up here, at the front!" someone said.

Carefully, Mark moved over there. "Spinarak, wrap up my legs and attach the other end to the track. I need to hang alongside her."

The spinarak quickly did as it was told, creating a rope of threads that stretched from his feet to the top of the track, with some stretch in it that would allow him to get to where he needed to be.

He moved over to the edge of the track, preparing himself to climb over the edge and begin to try to get the girl down. And that was when heard the fire engines finally coming.

He hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" someone called out from below him.

Mark suddenly lost his nerve. Desperate though the girl's situation was, the firefighters were almost here. They would take care of things. He couldn't be sure that the spinarak's threads would hold him, after all, or that they'd manage to stay attached to the track when he put his full weight on them.

He silently tried to push himself back up to the middle of the track, not wanting the captive people just below him to know he was chickening out. But his hand slipped, and he found himself tumbling…

…and tumbling…

…and tumbling.

There was only one casualty that day. And to this day, Mark Trenton Lewis is memorialized within the park as the employee who up until the very end was willing to sacrifice his life in hopes of saving another.

* * *

><p>Word Count: 999<p>

*ideally, the last "and tumbling" just above would be right aligned, but this site apparently can't do that much.

All right, so someone in writing club gave me a prompt to write about a roller coaster getting stuck at the top... And I end up with more deathfic. :/ I apparently have this unconscious rule in my head that a short fic can't be very good unless it's terribly tragic in some way. (Which, though not fully true, is not entirely untrue...)

Anyway, I've found that I'm sort of forcing myself to get these done... Once I ran out of my five or so original ideas, it just stopped feeling very fun or productive. So I think I'm going to quit the Fan Flash Fiction February challenge. I'll still keep this story up and keep it listed as incomplete, since I'll probably add stuff to it every now and then.

For now, I'll post one more fic in the next couple days, since I had one more prompt during my writing club's last meeting. After that, I'll probably just wait until something that I actually want to write comes to me.

Sorry that this didn't live up to the expectations that I built for it! When it comes down to it, I guess it's just better if I stick to novel-writing and novel-length fanfic writing. ^_^ Hope you enjoyed what I did manage to get up, though, and (if you did enjoy it) I hope you continue to watch this story for the occasional update!


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